


cinnamon sugar

by Laurencin



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, siegfried bottoms propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 15:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurencin/pseuds/Laurencin
Summary: Not long after Siegfried's return to knighthood, Percival is given an opportunity to act on old desires. These things rarely play out as imagined, but sometimes that's not so bad.
Relationships: Percival/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	cinnamon sugar

If he had been told, rather than found for himself, that Siegfried was so passive, Percival might have thought it a terrible waste. A waste of his great strength, of his monstrous stamina, of the considerable endowment that Percival had certainly _not_ appraised in stolen glances here and there, thank you, for that would be remarkably uncouth. Absolutely no way for a king to behave, not at all. So it was a good thing he had never done such a thing, and in that way compounded those thoughts he had not entertained.

And those would have been very stupid thoughts indeed, very selfish really, because nothing about Siegfried was a waste. Certainly nothing he chose to do for himself, nothing that brought the two of them together, brought calloused fingers to graze his cheek, tuck hair behind his ear – none of that could be a waste.

If he had dreamed of a moment like this back then - when Siegfried was only his captain, and not a startlingly opaque spectre of days gone by - Percival would have imagined his captain undressing him carefully, roaming his form with those dangerous amber eyes, cracked down the middle by sharply slit pupils. He could not have known, thanks to Siegfried’s helmet, that in the darkness his pupils swelled once more into discs, and the piercing gold looked rather more like fresh honey. He could not have known that the effect of this change would be so precious; that it would compel him so commandingly to gather as much of his captain into his arms as he could manage, to kiss him with such virginal tenderness that Siegfried would have to laugh into his mouth.

“Do you think I’m made of glass?”

“Shut up.” Siegfried, of course, could not have known how close he had come to the truth in that moment; though it was true Percival did not think him glass, he was possessed of the notion that, if sufficiently pushed, Siegfried would crumble in his arms and blow away, scattered to the winds like so much sand. It had happened before. Not broken, but irretrievable all the same. So although he would never admit it aloud, Percival felt his quiet fears were perfectly well-grounded.

Still, though mercy was not a particular strength of his, Siegfried acquiesced; he fell silent with a self-satisfied smile, received the young knight’s lips with a sigh. Percival had half a mind to nip him, a petty punishment for his teasing - but, feeling his captain’s smile against his lips, the desire dissolved. Siegfried had, after all, spent every atom of his being in service of another; it would be difficult to justify denying him this simple pleasure. And because reality was so staunchly determined to flip his dreams on their head, Percival found himself tasked with undressing them both, found himself the one devouring each freshly uncovered inch of flesh with his eyes, skating reverential fingers along every scar. Some thick, some thin; some glossy and taut, some wrinkled and beveled; some the clean carvings of blades, some the haphazard gouges of tooth and fang. All beautiful.

When Percival slipped his fingers, slick with oil, into Siegfried, all his concerns about what this encounter ought to look like and how it measured up to boyhood fantasies he refused to own up to melted away, irrelevant in the face of reality. And what a face it was; Percival could scarcely drag his eyes away from Siegfried as he twisted against Percival’s hands. The muscles of his stomach fluttered and jerked; his back arched up off the bed, forcing his hips to grind down onto Percival’s fingers. Peering down along his own form, Siegfried’s lashes hooded his gaze, barely allowing the candlelight to glint against his eyes. Percival crooked his fingers as their eyes met, marveled at the way such a slight movement sparked in his captain’s eyes, drew sighs and mumbled curses from his lips. This, most of all, was a privilege; seeing Siegfried’s guard come down, give way to something carnal.

“You’re beautiful.” The words tumbled forth so easily, Percival didn’t realize entirely what he had said until Siegfried stopped moving.

He felt his ears turn red before Siegfried managed to crack into a smile.

“Pardon?”

“You’re dreadful,” Percival corrected, suddenly incapable of meeting the all-too-warm amber gaze. “Just the worst.”

“Ah-hah. I think you’ll find that’s a m-m_mh_…” Siegfried’s words stuttered off into a whine as Percival pulled his fingers away, busy instead lining up Siegfried’s hips. “…more popular opinion these days, anyway.”

Percival still couldn’t bring himself to return Siegfried’s gaze, face the self-deprecating smile that would certainly be there. Instead, he stared resolutely at Siegfried’s fingers, curled up in bundles of sheets. Unwilling to turn the full force of their grip on Percival’s skin. “Is that what you think,” he muttered, an assessment more than a question. His hands skated idly along Siegfried’s thighs, which answered with a squeeze around his waist. He hadn’t the words to express to Siegfried how wrong he was; loathe as he was to admit it, the mongrel was better at that sort of thing, in all his bumbling charm.

Quickly growing frustrated with himself, and unwilling to risk letting something else slip, Percival brought their lips together again, teeth gnashing. Siegfried sighed into him, body melting beneath him, far more pliant than it had any right to be. It gave way to him with ease; one smooth motion brought their hips together, Siegfried’s soft, barely-noises swallowed up by Percival.

Percival’s hands slid from Siegfried’s thighs to rest on the mattress, searching for leverage. The captain _growled _at the loss of contact – a soft growl, granted, but Percival could think of no better description for the sound that rumbled between them, stirred from deep within Siegfried’s chest. He rolled his hips in an effort to justify the action; a justification Siegfried seemed to accept, as he crossed his ankles against Percival’s back, drawing him in for each thrust.

Rhythm found, Percival pulled away from Siegfried’s mouth, intending to ask – something. How he was feeling. Was this good? Did he need - what did he need? It all felt so stupid, now, looking down at Siegfried, taking him in. It seemed surreal, to Percival, to see Siegfried’s face beneath him, flushed pink, brow glistened with sweat, lips parted and bruised; he reached out to cup his commander’s cheek, rub a thumb along his lips, confirm he was real. Siegfried nuzzled into the touch, keening softly as he did, eager for contact. Fingers flexing miserably around satin folds.

Percival scoffed, hips coming to a stop.

“Touch me.”

A rough, breathless laugh peeled out of Siegfried. “I’m not certain I could be touching you any more.”

“I am.” Percival took one of Siegfried’s hands, smoothing it open with his thumb. He pulled it up, and slapped it onto his shoulder. “See?”

The hand, quickly acclimating to its new home, slid over Percival’s shoulder, came to rest on the back of his neck. Massaged gently, fingertips squeezing and relaxing, contemplative.

“Well. If you’re sure.” Siegfried’s tone was as even as ever, but the quivering corner of his lip told Percival he was pleased with the invitation. Told Percival he never would have asked on his own. He never does.

Siegfried hadn’t been wrong, necessarily, to hold himself back; his nails weren’t long, but they were thick as talons, and backed by the grip strength of a man who could tear a beast in twain by the jaw. The welts they carved into Percival’s back rose fast, hot to the touch and pricked with blood. But they were a small price to pay for the feeling of Siegfried’s arms, tender and dense, binding and soothing, wrapped around him, the sound of his breath drawn ragged against Percival’s ear.

“Percival,” Siegfried started, voice breaking against each thrust that wracked his form. That was the most perfect part of all of this, to Percival; he had never heard the captain so much as winded, and to hear his name on those lips, broken and stretched by his own efforts, by the way he made his captain feel – it was too much. “Percival, I– I’m-” Siegfried’s voice broke off, lips moving silently against Percival’s ear, fingers curling roughly into his scalp, his shoulder. Percival’s grip tightened in kind, gathering up as much of Siegfried in his arms as he could manage, rutting into him clumsily, having foregone leverage.

“You don’t have to tell me about it, just _come_.”

For the first time in recent memory, Siegfried did as he was told, and arched up into Percival’s body, spilling between them with a rumbling groan. The sound in his ear - and Siegfried’s nails tearing into him - pushed Percival over the edge, coming inside his captain with a shout and a final, deep thrust.

For a moment they simply laid there, silent but for their own ragged breathing. Through the static surging through his body, Percival scarcely felt Siegfried’s fingers at his cheek, pushing gently, guiding their mouths together. Percival would have liked to offer a scathing remark about this - something similar to Siegfried’s earlier teasing - but his mind was hopelessly clouded. He resigned himself to accepting the kiss in all its embarrassing chastity; a gentle brush of the lips, hardly more tangible than Siegfried’s breath against his nose. The kiss slipped away more than broke, and Percival’s head came to rest on Siegfried’s chest.

Siegfried’s strength didn’t leave him in his haze; even now, spent and panting, the arm slung around Percival’s shoulders held him down with impossible weight. This, Percival noted dimly, was rather more in line with his expectations. Sticky and exhausted, cradled in Siegfried’s arms, his steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. He wanted to protest; to demand Siegfried release him, get them cleaned up before they stained the sheets, but he hadn’t the energy.

Truly damnable, he thought, eyes drifting shut. He could feel Siegfried’s fingers against his scalp, smoothing his hair back. A fine gesture; finer still if the great brute would move his arm. Percival wanted to scowl.

“Good night, Percival.”

Hoped he was scowling.

“Mhmm.”

Knew he wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> *strums guitar*  
i just love siegfried  
and i want him to be cherish'd  
by everyone
> 
> follow @tyrfingering for more spicy siegfrieds


End file.
